Observant
by nat rulz
Summary: Observant. That’s all I am. I observe things. It’s my unofficial job. I haven’t lived this long for nothing, you know. He must have thought I was stupid that I wouldn’t notice. DmHp slash. One shot


**A/N:** A sweet little one shot. Hope you all enjoy it, i'm quite proud of this one, myself!

**Summery:** _Observant. That's all I am. I observe things. It's my unofficial job. I haven't lived this long for nothing, you know. He must have thought I was stupid; that I wouldn't notice._ Looks like something is going on at hogwarts... but what can these meaningful glances possibly mean!

**Pairing:** Dm/Hp... so slash people, don't like, don't read

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Though the poem is.

_Your doing it again  
Yes, that's right, I know  
You thought I'd be oblivious  
But no surprise I show  
Yes I know the timing  
I just don't know the 'Why's'  
And not through lack of trying  
I can't escape your eyes._

**Observant**

Observant. That's all I am. I observe things. It's my unofficial job. I haven't lived this long for nothing, you know. He must have thought I was stupid; that I wouldn't notice. Okay, I'll admit it…I can be a little clueless sometimes, but really, how could I not notice that? He's good; I'll give him that. Took me a while to actually catch on. It started with little things: a glace here, a touch there, even a small smile once. When it finally became apparent, I plagued myself with questions about how I could have possibly not noticed it in the first place. Like most things, it's only obvious once you know it's there. Finally accepting that I may never know why I didn't notice, I formed a new, harder, and more pressing question: **_Why?_**

Why was he looking at me like that? Did his fingers just brush mine as he pushed past me? Is he looking at me from his table far too often than is necessary? Did he just _smile_ at me! Not a full on smile, but a hidden, small, almost unnoticeable smile? Does anyone else see this? Am I the only one noticing that my enemy is watching me far too closely? Did I just hear the words 'wishful thinking'! It most certainly is not! What do you mean 'in order to have seen all his glances you must have been looking in the first place'! Of course I was looking! I was looking for glances! Our eyes have never even really connected! No eye contact at all! It's totally out of the question, of course, for me to mention this to anyone. It would lead to awkward questions and uncertain answers.

Oh crap. Snape's just asked me a question. So I'll admit that potions is probably not the best time in the world to ponder this, but it's the only subject I can really do it in and simply look bored or thoughtful – my usual emotions in potions. Most other classes, I'm silent for five minutes and Ron or Hermione ask me what's wrong – or at least they used to. Aren't I allowed any privacy? These are my thoughts! I know all other aspects of Harry Potter's life are worldwide knowledge, but does that mean my thoughts have to be too! Besides, what am I supposed to say? 'Gee guys it's nothing really, I've just been noticing that Malfoy is spending a lot of his time staring at me. No big deal, right?'?

"Mr Potter!"

Oh right, the question. Forgot about that. Stupid Malfoy and his stalking tendencies! Seems being observant has its down points.

"Sorry sir?"

I doubt he bought that innocent, slightly puzzled tone for a second. Nope, there's the sneer, right on cue. It must be bad: only Snape gets pleasure from torturing me…well, Snape and Voldemort…actually, Snape, Voldemort, and Malfoy…no wait…Snape, Voldemort, Malfoy, and the Dursley's. Hmmm, that's more than I thought. I hope they're never all in the same room with each other – I wounder what that would be like? Maybe they could finish each other off? I wounder how they'd do it? Maybe – oh crap. He's giving me that look again. What did he say? I'd better ask him…

"Sorry, sir?"

Can't I be more original than that? Obviously not.

"I _said_, Mr. Potter, that you have detention tonight at 8:00, and since I have the privilege of finally having your attention, twenty points from Gryffindor for not paying attention in class."

Bastard. What would I need to know healing potions for anyway? Oh shit…is _that_ what the potion was…? Maybe I should have paid attention after all. That could come in handy, considering how many times I end up in the hospital wing each year. Maybe I should start paying attent…– are my nails _really_ that dirty? How could I have done that? I have such awful nails...Ha! There it is! That look! I must be getting better at this observing thing than I thought; I didn't even have to look up. I could _feel_ his gaze. I'll tell you, though – this 'feeling Draco Malfoy's gaze' thing is not really that big a deal – honestly! Trust me, when he looks at you, you can feel it. Only Malfoy's look has that feel that is so remarkably…Malfoy.

It's entirely his fault that I have detention, naturally. Everything leads back to him; I can't escape the ruddy git. Ahhh, thank Merlin! The bell! Did you ever hear such a wonderful sound? I'll tell you when one Slytherin git is glaring at you and another is acting downright strange, it sounds almost as glorious as a phoenix's song.

Unfortunately, next up is Care of Magical Creatures. I like the subject and all, what with Hagrid teaching it, but it means more Malfoy, which means more puzzling glances and even more puzzling questions. I'm heading towards the door, lagging behind Ron and Hermione, who are holding hands – a public show of the fact they're now dating. It's actually working to my advantage; they're too wrapped up with each other to notice anything strange going on. Namely, me eyeing Malfoy, who's eyeing me – if that makes any sense whatsoever. As I reach the stairs, Malfoy (stupid, agnostic, stuck up little git) pushes past me with a loud call back over his shoulder, 'Out of the way Potter!'

Apparently watching me almost 24/7 doesn't make him any less of an asshole. Pity. It's even more infuriating that Ron and Hermione fail to notice my dilemma (I mean honestly, what's so interesting about _eyes_!). Don't get me wrong; I'm thrilled for them, and to be honest it's about time they got together. It just also makes them less likely to see how rattled I am…and did I just say that! No! No way! Okay, so maybe I'm a _little_ rattled and acting _slightly_ out of sorts, but how else would I act! My worst enemy is shooting me glances every six minutes! I have _not_ been keeping count! It's an…an estimation…oh, fine! I have been keeping count, okay! I'm observant remember! Observant, and that's all there is to it.

I make a note to measure the distance between the Potions classroom and Hagrid's hut (I could have sworn it was further apart – how long have I been walking?) before joining the group of people, and slightly isolating myself so I can think straight. Hagrid sends me a worried glance (is it illegal to stand by myself now!), and I send him a reassuring smile. It's nice to know he cares, even though his worries are baseless (but are they really?) and I need time alone with my thoughts (which will take the same track as always, and leave me back at square one with still no answers to any of my questions).

5:58, 5:59, 6 minutes and…there! Right on cue! He's prompt; I'll give him that. Strange. His gaze almost feels like it has a twinge of worry in it. It's hard to tell without actually looking him in the eyes, but as it is, I have only the feel of it to go by. And insult in three, two, one –

"Don't blame you for standing alone, Potter. I wouldn't want to be seen with those two either. It's sickening. Weasel probably has some mudblood disease by now."

God I'm good. He doesn't send an insult _every_ time he sends a look, but when he does I always feel it coming. God bless…whatever it is that allows me to feel all this. My observation? Yes, God bless my observation. It's observation and that's all there is to it. Ah right, the comeback, almost forgot…

"Detention Malfoy, there's no need for that language. See me at the end of the lesson to work out a time."

Hagrid's voice quickly made any chances of a comeback obsolete. I send him a smirk and see something unidentifiable flicker in his gaze. I've seen that a few times…every time I dare to actually look him in the eyes. Right now its annoyance, frustration, anger, and that…thing…the flicker of whatever it is that is so unidentifiable. Whatever reason it is that Malfoy looks at me, its obvious he resents it.

So in a nutshell (where did that saying come from anyway?), the rest of the lesson was spent pretending to listen to Hagrid, while actually keeping track of Malfoy's glances (it always surprised me how inconspicuous he can make them), analyzing the looks (no such luck), and then keeping my distance from Ron and Hermione on the way back to the castle, my brow furrowed in thought. I was actually quite lucky; I thought Hagrid might want to 'chat' about my mood. I've always had someone to help me with solving mysteries and going solo is harder than I thought. But hey, I spent eleven years isolated from everyone and sleeping in a cupboard. I can hack this.

Good news is that there're no more lessons with the Slytherins. For the day at least. And that was the last lesson, so that's actually not really saying much. To top off a perfect day and make it even _better_, I have detention tonight. Oh joy. Not to mention all the homework I have. Why do they have detention late at night? Basically, the teachers give you detention late at night, then get mad when you don't hand in the homework for them because you didn't get back 'til 2:00 because you were cleaning whatever it is that they made you clean. Then, since you didn't do your homework, you get another detention. Makes a lot of sense, huh?

6:30. Well, Ron and Hermione aren't going to miss me (Ron has never eaten this slowly before in his life, but its hard to shovel food down your mouth while admiring your girlfriend, I'd imagine). I leave the table, not bothering to tell them where I was going. No doubt if they noticed my absence, they would have the sense to check the Gryffindor common room.

7:00. Divination homework complete. It's a good thing I'm not a seer – I wouldn't want to live with that in store! Is it even possible to be burnt, frozen, drowned, and dehydrated to death at the same time, all because Mars, Venus, and Jupiter are on strange angles with each other? I should get full marks for creativity.

7:30. Potions homework out of the way (take that Snape!). No need to get _another_ detention. Speaking of detention, I have to go in half an hour, and speaking of half an hour, where the hell are Ron and Hermione? Probably taking advantage of an empty classroom…argh! I so did _not_ need that mental image! I doubt Ron is _that_ kinky! How effective is that obliviate charm again?

7:45. I'd better get going. At least I got my homework done, though transfiguration looks extremely dodgy and my writing is quite a bit larger than usual. But it's all I can manage; it'll have to do. I stretch as I stand, before walking towards the portrait hole. It opens just before I get there and Ron and Hermione enter, clutching hands, both looking flushed and rumpled. I won't even speculate as to what they had been doing, although it was far too easy to guess.

"Where are you going?" Ron asks curiously.

"Detention," I answer shortly.

Ron has the decency to give me a sympathetic look as I leave. I make my way to Snape's office quickly (I don't want to be late after all…just get me into more trouble). I wish Ron would _talk_ to me. Sirius's death still haunts me at night; though my roommates are oblivious to my nightmares (I'm kind enough to use silencing spells. Strong ones.), I still have them. Oh well, knowing me, I'd probably clam up if the words 'Sirius' and 'death' were used in the same sentence by anyone but my own thoughts.

Besides, he's just too wrapped up in Hermione to notice my feelings. I've been distant; I know that – I'm observant, remember? – but I've had that and now this Malfoy thing on my mind to distract me. Still, they could at least _notice_ I was distracted. At least _notice_ that I hardly ate. At least _notice_ I hardly slept. Maybe that's why I was trying to solve what I had dubbed 'The Malfoy Mystery' – because for some unknown reason, _he_ noticed me (or he had some other strange reason to continuously glance in my direction).

Has someone put a speed charm on me today? How can I already be at Snape's office? I raise a hand and knock. There's a moment's silence, the faint sound of rustling, and then Snape is opening the door.

"Potter, since you have long since proven that you can not be trusted in my office, I have handed you over to Filch, who tells me he has work for you in the trophy room. You are to go directly there now."

And with that, he closed the door. Can't be trusted! Ha! I take one look in a pensive, see a deep, utterly humiliating, and therefore secret memory, and suddenly I can't be trusted in his office? Aren't I allowed to be curious? It's my job to be observant after all.

Why is the Potions room so far from the trophy room? I'm still seething over Snape, and that satisfied, triumphant smirk had done nothing to alleviate my anger. I needed to calm down. Finally reaching the trophy room, I see that Filch is already there, as well as someone else.

Draco Malfoy.

I had forgotten that he had detention. This was way too convenient. Hagrid _never_ gives detention on the day; he always gives notice. Most teachers do. Snape's just a git. So why was he here? Now I have to spend a whole night with the ferret. What did I do to deserve this? Sure, I puzzle over him and his looks enough, but now I have to spend the night practically alone in a room with him. Fabulous.

Malfoy sneers at me and I simply nod my head slightly, acknowledging his presence.

"I want these trophies clean enough to see my face in them. Potter, you on the left; Malfoy, you on the right. Get started, if you want to be finished anytime in this century."

He's obviously enjoying this. I pick up a scrub and go to the first trophy, while Malfoy goes to the one next to mine (on my right). This isn't too bad, I suppose. Malfoy's worse off than me. I'm used to cleaning things – I got plenty of practice at the Dursley's and, consequently, I became quite good at polishing (Vernon had _very_ high standards). Malfoy, on the other hand, was new at this. No doubt he'd never had to clean anything in his life. At any rate, I amused myself at the look on his face. He wasn't even polishing right. He was scrubbing up and down, instead of in a circular motion, which would not only leave it looking better, but would be much less tiring too.

**_CRASH!_**

I looked up at the sound. Filch went red and cried out, "Peeves!"

I sniggered. Filch gave one look at Malfoy and me (I quickly lowered my head and fought to keep a straight face), then looked out the door and in the direction of the noise.

"Stay here! I expect you to be done when I get back!"

And with that, he scampered out of the room. I shook my head slightly before turning my attention back to the trophy. I was just finishing it up when I felt it. The glance. As soon as it left I began to count (not out loud obviously). I moved on to the next trophy (so now Malfoy was on my left) and began to polish. Glance. Three minutes. Not wasting any time was he? Ignoring it, I continued to polish as though nothing had happened.

2:57, 2:58, 2:59, 3 minutes – there! Glance! After this happened for the third time, I snapped. He glanced at me and I dropped the rag and looked at him.

"What?" I asked.

I have to commend myself on the tone – slightly annoyed, but not too angry or forceful.

"What do you mean, 'What'?" he snapped back.

"Why do you keep _looking_ at me?"

There! I finally asked it. The question that has been plaguing me for days. The thing that's been annoying me and making me even more distant than I already am.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he snaps.

And the question he's going to inevitably deny. I should have seen that coming.

"Liar," I snap.

He's avoiding my gaze now. Great. Well if he's not going to tell me, I'll just have to figure it out on my own. Hey, I've lasted this long, haven't I? I should have known he'd never actually _admit_ to watching me. Anyway, right, next trophy.

The next hour is worked in silence: me working quickly and efficiently, and him still polishing wrong (circular motion!). Then something strange happens; as I reach to hold the next trophy steady with my free hand, my scar sears with pain. I pull my hand away and…nothing. Strange. I touch the trophy again and – ouch! There it is again. What on earth? Carefully, I lean forward and blow the dust, revealing the name in big bold letters.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Ahh. That explains it. But come on! It's a stupid trophy! It's not going to perform any curses on me! I bite my lip. It doesn't help that Malfoy's looking at me strangely. Okay, I can do this…deep breaths. I close my eyes and place both hands on the cool surface.

A dull ache slowly starts to rise up. I'm trying to ignore it but it increases with every passing second: my breath is constricted, and coldness wraps around me. I feel…lies, deceit, darkness, and murder. All the things that earned him the trophy. How could no one have noticed it? My scar is searing now. I feel as though a hot wire has been pressed against it. I can feel myself shaking as the emotions swirl around me, wrapping me up and pulling me down –

My eyes flung open. My hand has been yanked off the trophy. I blink, steadily regaining my breath as I look at the pale hand still clutching my wrist tightly. I follow the arm upwards to a face and look into a pair of stormy grey eyes. Warmth pulses steadily from where his hand touches mine, but all that matters is his eyes. Worry, fear, and that ever-present flicker are equally present.

"I'll take that trophy," he whispers, breaking the silence. I simply nod and move to the next one.

If things weren't confusing enough before, now I have a headache. Malfoy is setting to work on Voldemort's trophy now, and he's still polishing it wrong! Well really, I'd be doing myself a favour if I help him out…I don't want to be here all night after all. Yeah, I didn't buy that excuse either.

"No, no. Like this."

I reach out and place my hand on his (he must have cold hands, a shiver just passed down my spine) and rotate it around the trophy clockwise.

"It takes less time, and less energy. Plus it'll make it look better," I explain softly, and Malfoy gives me a puzzled look. He's probably wondering how I know all this.

"You learn from experience," I merely say. Huzzah. I've probably succeeded in making him even more confused. Well he can just stay that way; I haven't even told Ron and Hermione _half_ the things that went on at the Dursley's. And some that still do, for that matter.

Malfoy's looking at me again. Does he _want_ to get caught? I wish he would tell me what was going on. He's biting his lip…how do I _know_ these things! I'm not even _looking_ at him! Yet I can feel the uncertainness coming from him, and that means he's biting his lip. It's just me being observant. Yes, Observant. And that's all there is to it.

I risk a glace. Should I be more worried about the fact that I was right about him biting his lip, or the actual fact that he's biting his lip? Perhaps the latter…

"Something wrong Malfoy?" I ask kindly.

I think he's surprised. At what? That I'm being nice to him? Okay…I admit it…_I'm_ surprised.

"How long have you known?" he asked finally.

Honestly if he had spoken any softer, I probably wouldn't have heard him. Wait…how long have I known what? What does he mean?

"How long have I known what?" I ask curiously.

"That I've been looking at you," he says simply. Oh my god. He just admitted it. Maybe I'll actually get somewhere with this.

"Fifty-six days," I answer. He raises an eyebrow at that. So I kept track. So what? I'm observant, remember? Observant. And that's all there is to it.

"And you never asked me why?" Malfoy asks.

"I didn't think you'd tell me. I was trying to work it out alone," I say simply.

"What, you didn't even tell Weasel and Granger?" He asks dryly. I chose to ignore the insult. I wanted answers after all.

"No. They've been preoccupied recently," I say coolly. His eyes darkened in anger. What did I say?

"They didn't notice," he says coldly.

"Notice what?" I ask, my voice hardly louder than a whisper.

"You! Your depression! They were too absorbed in each other to even notice the fact that you weren't eating, weren't sleeping, and have been having nightmares every night," he cries.

"How do you know about my nightmares?" I ask, totally shocked.

"I didn't; you just told me," he says.

Stupid, smart-ass Slytherins. That was so typical.

"Why?" I finally whisper.

"Why what?" he asks me, searching my eyes. I wounder if he found what he's looking for.

"Why did you notice?" I ask.

"I'm observant," he says simply.

"I'm sorry Draco, but that's my job." His name rolls off my tongue and I see him shudder at the sound of it. I don't blame him. It sounded good.

Then next thing I know, he's on top of me. For a brief second I think he's going to punch my lights out, but then his lips are on mine. Mmm, that was unexpected. You think I would have noticed hell freezing over. His lips are soft, yet demanding. Hesitant, yet wandering. They fit so well together, his and mine, that I can't help but observe how perfect it is. I do the most natural thing in the world and kiss him back, with just as much passion. I feel him relax slightly and I know he feared rejection. I don't want that. I tighten my hold around him and deepen the kiss. He's keeping up with no trouble, pushing us both to a place of utter bliss. Confusing, scary, yet wonderful emotions swell around us and we cling tighter to each other.

Draco (for it is Draco now, and I don't think there's any going back – and even if there is, I don't want to find it) pulls away slowly and looks hesitantly into my eyes. I'll tell you this – his eyes are so vast, and deep with emotion that I thought I might need a compass to find my way out again. It's there. The flicker. Brighter and more powerful than ever. I feel a heat sweep through my body as I finally identify it: Hope, lust, compassion, and…love? So _that's_ what's so interesting about eyes…I wounder if my eyes look even remotely like that.

"Harry…"

It's not a question. Nor is it really a statement. Right now I couldn't be stuffed trying to identify it, because Draco just said my name and it's the most wonderful thing in the world. I moan his name in return and clutch him tighter, bringing him in for another breathless kiss, even more passionate than the last.

As we spend the rest of the night snogging each other senseless, the trophies lying forgotten, I realize that nothing will ever be the same between us. We have crossed that line between love and hate and discovered it really _wasn't_ that thin after all. Looks like someone really does care. Looks like Ron and Hermione aren't the newest couple any more. God, Ron will chuck a fit; I'll deal with him later. Why am I thinking these things when a gorgeous Slytherin is moaning my name as I take off his shirt? I observe how utterly divine and perfect this all is, and as our eyes connect again, unspoken, yet powerful, words pass between us. Then he's pulling me in for another kiss, leaving me to observe the velvety feel and exotic taste. Yes. Observant. But for once I can admit that that's not all there is to it.

_**Fin**_


End file.
